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“I already said I don’t drug women,” he snaps as he fills up a glass a quarter of the way full.
“And I have blonde hair,” I quip. “See? Look how easy it is to lie.”
He narrows his eyes, but a smug smile plays on his lips. “Just so you know, I can keep going all night long with this little bit, baby.”
“Good for you. Your dad must be so proud that he has a son so talented that he can spend a couple of hours arguing with a girl.”
I must’ve hit a sore spot because he strangles the vodka bottle so hard I think the glass actually might crack. “You better shut your mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’re going to find out exactly what I’m talented at.”
Fear lashes through me, but my expression remains neutral.
“Look at you, so tough—”
The front door swings open and relief washes over me. I may have appeared as calm as a mother effing boss, but I was getting really worried. Then again, the moment I lay eyes on the person who waltzes through the door, I wonder if maybe I was better off dealing with crazy Austin.
Extremely tall, with dark hair, broad shoulders, and a thick neck, this guy gives a whole new light to the term steroid freak. It doesn’t help that he’s carrying a knife in his hand. Seriously, who does that?
People who murder people, Hadley.
I swallow hard, wishing I hadn’t let Austin bully me into leaving my bag and phone in his car.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the term knocking, Liam?” Austin says coldly to the giant of a man—Liam, I’m presuming.
Liam only grunts in response, like he’s part grizzly bear or something.
Awesome.
This is so bad.
Austin picks up the glass of vodka and downs it in three gulps, looking as tense as I feel. Great, even Hairy Chest Douchebag McGee is uncomfortable around the beast of a man looming in his entryway.
“Where’s my father?” Austin asks, setting the glass down on the countertop. “He said he’d be coming, not one of his minions.”
Liam responds with yet another grunt. Then his gaze skates to me and a tiny trace of a smile forms on his lips.
What the actual fuck?
“Hello, lovely brother of mine.” The girl who was at my house earlier this morning—I think Blaise said her name is Amelia—strolls into the house, swaying her hips and blowing a kiss to her brother.
Austin’s brows knit. “What’re you doing here?” Shaking his head, he sets the glass in the sink. “You should probably leave. Dad’s going to be here soon.”
She dismisses him with a flick of her wrist, tossing her handbag onto the countertop. “I’m fine seeing Dad. In fact, I have a pressing matter to discuss with him.”
“Really?” His brow skeptically curves upward.
“Yep.” She plops down on a barstool and crosses her legs. “Now please pour your favorite sister a drink. I’ve had the roughest of days.”
“I bet you did.” Accusation rings in Austin’s tone, but he grabs the bottle of vodka and a clean glass to pour her a drink.
“Aw, now, don’t be jealous, brother of mine.” She grins. “It’s unbecoming on you.”
He slides the drink across the counter toward her. “And red lipstick looks whorish on you. You should really stop wearing it.”
She flashes him a grin. “Why would I do that? Whorish is what I’m going for.”
